


Through the Glass

by Marbles123



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Angst, Cheating, M/M, Off Screen Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-11
Updated: 2013-07-11
Packaged: 2017-12-19 03:12:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/878746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marbles123/pseuds/Marbles123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames is a married man that visits Arthur (prostitute) but all he ever does is talk until one night it's not enough to just talk. Emotions boil over, attachments are formed, responsibilities are impossible to escape.</p><p>based off a prompt from pretentiousprince</p>
            </blockquote>





	Through the Glass

**Author's Note:**

> My first Inception fanfic so I'm a little nervous.

Eames’s fingers wrapped around the delicate steam of his champagne flute, it rested atop the white linen of the table cloth as he watched the bubbles rise to the surface in a steady stream. Around him was the aimless chatter of his colleagues and his wife’s friends. They were meant to be his friends as well, but he knew this to be a lie. Friends were people you were open with and Eames wasn’t open with anyone. In fact, he hated most of them. Uptight, pretentious assholes with entitlement complexes most of them, clad in over-priced suits the sales clerk had recommended. No personal taste or flair. Though he couldn’t really count himself above them seeing as Janice had picked out his suit. According to her, his tastes were “downright vile.” 

They served a purpose though. He had an image to uphold. He was very successful, junior partner at a multimillion dollar company and he was only thirty, nearly unheard of. He had a beautiful home, a gorgeous wife and two lovely daughters. The latter being the only thing in his life to bring him pride. He had everything a man his age and social class was supposed to want. Had achieved everything, or so it looked to everyone on the outside of his glass house looking in. Eames knew different.

“At least try to look like you’re having fun, honey.” Janice’s hand appeared on his wrist, her manicure impeccable. He looked up at her and forced a smile. 

“I must be more tired than I thought. I’m sorry.” He regarded her with sentiment, guilt narrowing his eyes and showing off the beginnings of crow’s feet. It had already been suggested he get it “looked at” by a plastic surgeon. Janice really was beautiful. American and ambitious, his father had practically proposed _for_ him. He gave her another soft smile. “You look lovely.” 

Janice brushed her long brown hair from off her shoulder, taking a sip of her champagne. “What time did you tell the babysitter?”

“Eleven.”

She made a noise of disappointment and hurried to swallow her sip. “We’ll have to leave early then. I told you at least midnight.”  
“I’m sorry, but she said she had exams in the morning.”

“We’re paying her enough she can stay an extra hour.” 

Eames frowned and reached for her hand, but she pulled it away. “I could ring her. See if I can’t convince her.”

She huffed and put her glass down, shaking her head. “No, it’s fine, but _you_ explain to everyone why we have to leave so early.” 

Eames sighed and looked up at the talking heads around the table, a knot forming in his stomach. “All right, darling. Whatever you like.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Never let it be said that Eames didn’t love his family. His father had been a great inspiration to him, top of his class at Oxford, worked like a bastard until he made something of himself and he was master of his own company by age forty. Eames and his brothers had never wanted for anything other than affection, which their mother was more than happy to provide. He was the youngest of three and his mother’s secret favorite. She could never say, but she always called him her little cherub. He could remember spending hours with his head on her lap, her fingers running through his hair or lying on the carpet in their posh living room listening to her play piano.

Life has a way of destroying precious things. In her case it was cancer. Eames was only sixteen at the time. It was after her funeral that his father sat him down at the kitchen table and told him it was time to give up childish things. No more flights of fancy like his mother had encouraged. He would not be attending drama school. He would get a real job and become a man and stop hanging out with that flashy neighborhood boy. 

“It doesn’t look right. He’s a poofter if ever I saw one. Don’t need to associate with that.” 

Eames never told him they were more than just mates. He knew what the answer to that would be. So he told Freddy they would only be friends even though it broke his heart, swallowed his pride and his dreams and started applying to university. He deliberately picked ones overseas. 

At first he was good. He concentrated on his studies and forgot his lower instincts. Of course that didn’t last for long. He was young, robust and athletic and America was full of gorgeous young things. He started out with one-nightstands, drunken, sloppy sex in the back of cars outside clubs. It was good enough he told himself. 

Turns out even having an ocean between them wasn’t enough. His father kept a close watch. When Eames never brought anyone home over breaks he got suspicious. He started prying. Eames panicked. He didn’t want to be cut off. All he had left was his father and his brothers. What would he do without them? 

Then Janice came along. Well mannered, shrewd and beautiful. An architecture major with big ambitions and a mind to change the world. They started dating and it was good. His father was happy, his brother’s loved her, teased him about stealing her away. It made for a lovely image to his employers. It snowballed from there. There was no more drunken sex outside of clubs. He might not be honest about who he was, but he wasn’t a cheater. He looked, but he didn’t touch. Wanking in the shower could last him the rest of his life. He was good. He dressed well. He ate no carbs. 

Meeting Arthur was purely by accident. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Being so perfect came with consequences, dirty, nasty shameful little secrets that led to late night affairs. For Eames it was with little chocolate donuts. He lied to Janice. He ate carbs. He adored them. One bad habit led to another it seemed. As with everything in his life it just started to snowball until it was out of control.

Eames walked out of the twenty-four hour gas station in the shitty part of town. His wedding ring was being resized and cleaned not far from there. He looked completely out of place but he didn’t care, clutching the small box of mini-donuts, one already in his mouth. Heaven, this was heaven.

Shouting caught his attention but it was too late. He was body slammed by some spry Adonis hauling ass from a very angry, very big looking bloke with very little regard for modern hairstyles and too much regard for denim jackets. 

“Who still wears mullets?” Eames remembered pondering aloud until he discovered the brutal death of his donuts. “Aw, wanker!” He shouted down at the gorgeous little twink now clutching to him.

“Get me out of here and I’ll do whatever you want.” 

So he could speak. It didn’t matter. His donuts were dead. Wait, “whatever he wanted” the wanker had said. Whatever. He knew even as he made the decision that it would be one that he would later describe in his memoirs as his fatal mistake, yet he still went along with it.

“Get in the car.” 

They sped away, Mr. Mullet screaming and throwing things at Eames’s Lexus. He filed the possible scratches in the paint under “more things he would have to hide from Janice” and pressed down harder on the gas. His companion was laughing, rolling down the window to flip Mr. Mullet the bird. Eames had to laugh. His heart was pounding and he felt carefree like a kid again. 

“I’m Arthur by the way.”

“Lovely to meet you, Arthur. Are you always this exciting?” 

“Only on Tuesdays.” He smirked at Eames. He was stunning. Except for his clothes he looked like he could easily have walked out of a Gucci Ad on the back of Vogue or right off the runway. All sleek muscles and perfect cheekbones, with pouty lips on a baby face. “So, you’ve clearly got money, what are you doing in this part of the city?”

“I’ve an addiction.” 

“Oh, one of those, huh? What is it heroine, crack, cocaine, dust?”

“Donuts.”

Arthur stared at him, forehead wrinkled and mouth pouting. “What?”

“I’ve a ten dollar a week habit, it’s awful. I feel great shame, but they don’t make twelve step programs for it.”

Arthur laughed and reached for his cigarette pack. “You’re weird.” 

“Don’t smoke in here.” Eames held his hand up and spoke sternly. Janice would kill him if the Lexus smelled anything less than new.

“What’s your problem, wife got you by the balls?”

“No, I happen to like my car smelling new.” It wasn’t Arthur’s business that he was whipped. Arthur was nothing but a donut killer. “So where are we going? As much as I enjoy your company I don’t fancy driving all night.”

It really was nice talking to Arthur. He asked him questions, normal questions, not rich people questions. He could be honest, what did it matter? No one from the company was going to run into Arthur and question him.

“I live right around the corner.” He showed Eames the way. They pulled up outside the motel, half the letters were out and it stunk of broken dreams, failure and urine, most definitely urine. Eames made a face as he looked at the dilapidated structure. Arthur lived here?

“Home sweet home.” Arthur hopped out of the car and sauntered up to the door. He stopped and waited for Eames. “You coming?” 

Eames made a noise in his throat. This was another memoir moment to be sure. He didn’t want to go home though and already his car felt so empty and quiet. “Of course, I’ve all my vaccinations in proper order.” 

“Sorry it’s messy. Drink?” Arthur tossed his keys on the small table in the corner. The room was varying shades of brown and sadness although for New York it was sizable which meant it took more than three steps to cross the room. “All I have is beer.” He handed an open one to Eames who again made a face. American beer was what you pissed out after a night of drinking good beer. He forced a smile and took a sip. “So, what’s your name, good looking?” Arthur nearly purred in what Eames would dub his “prostitute voice.” He couldn’t stop himself he snickered.

“Do people really talk like that?”

Arthur’s face fell and he stared at him, his voice and posture dropping. “Okay, wanna fuck? Is that better?”

Eames choked on his beer. “That’s very forward. And it’s Eames.”

“I said I’d do whatever you wanted, _Eames_.”

“You just met me.”

“Yeah, normally I take six to seven weeks to get to know my johns. I like to take it slow, but you’re special.” He rolled his eyes at Eames. “I’m a prostitute you idiot. Fucking at first sight is my business.”

Eames shivered when Arthur started rubbing his shoulders but shied away. “Actually, I like talking. Can we just talk?”

“…Talk?” Arthur stared at him, dubious. Eames shrugged.

“I like it.” 

“Um… okay, it’s your favor. What do you want to talk about?”

“Ask me questions.”

“What gets you hot?”

Eames slowly closed his eyes and shook his head. “No, normal questions, like I was just someone you were getting to know.” He opened them and looked at Arthur expectantly. Arthur weathered his lip and sighed, as if he had to remember how to be normal, casual.

“You’re English, right? What are you doing over here?” 

“Running from my father,” Eames answered honestly. “He’s very controlling. I thought an ocean between us would bring us closer together. If that makes any sense.”

“He hit you?” Arthur plunked down on the bed, kicking off his shoes. 

“No,” Eames quirked an eyebrow, “he’s just a cunt.” 

“Oh, yeah, that’s bad. What do you do for work?” He patted the spot next to him which Eames took.

“I’m a lying bastard.”

“They pay you for that?”

“Yes, quite well, in fact. I’m the butt of every Wallstreet joke.” He put his beer on the nightstand and slunk down so his head was on Arthur’s lap. “Would you do me a great favor?”

“You can blow me if you want.” 

Again Eames shut his eyes and shook his head. “No, I don’t want sex. I can get that whenever I want.” 

“Cocky.”

“I’m rich and fit. I don’t have trouble getting laid.” That would be true if he was a cheating bastard. Sadly he wasn’t and Janice seemed to be repulsed by him as of late. Everything he did was wrong. 

“So what do you want?”

“Stroke my hair?” He felt emotional after he said it. He just wanted some affection. 

“…That’s it?” 

“That’s it.” He rubbed his eyes, but kept it together. He would not be that pathetic. He felt Arthur’s hand hover over him before his fingers tentatively ran through his hair, slowly gaining confidence. 

“Like this?”

“Yes that’s perfect.” He reveled in the feeling a moment, thinking back to better times in his life. “Can I tell you about my mother, cherub?”

Arthur fought back a smile, nodding. “Sure, go ahead.” 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Eames stared down at the shake Janice handed him. He was still sweaty from his morning run and absolutely starving. He wanted a giant plate of eggs, beans, sausages and toast. He got green sick in a glass served with a smile and told it was for his own good. 

“Who discovered wheat grass was for drinking?” Eames mused aloud. Janice rolled her eyes, hand on her hip. 

“It’s good for you, honey. You want to be around when the girls get married don’t you?” 

“I’ll have turned into a cow by then, sweat pea. My tux won’t fit.” 

“Well you’ll be in black and white already. We’ll just put a bowtie around your neck instead of a bell.” 

“Mmm, and they can slaughter me and serve me at the reception.” The real joke was he knew that’s exactly how it would happen. Janice smiled at him and he leaned in to kiss her, shake forgotten on the counter. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.

“Aw, honey, you’re all sweaty and gross!” She pushed him away and slid the shake back towards him. Eames sighed and took it, sipping it dutifully. 

“Moo.” 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Arthur answered, dressed in just his robe.

Eames’s face lit up and he walked in when Arthur stepped aside for him. “Gonna fuck me this time?” Arthur asked with good humor. “I’m all ready.” He opened his robe, flashing Eames everything just to see his eyes widen. Eames looked, oh he looked, but he put his hand up and shook his head.

“I just want to talk.”

“Hey, it’s your money.” Arthur closed his robe, his dimpled smile at full blast. Eames had never made a move on him. Arthur had thought he was just shy and would eventually work up to it, but it had been over a month and nothing. He walked over to the bed and sat down patting the spot next to him. 

“What’s bothering you today, Mr. Eames?”

Eames kicked off his shoes and shrugged out of his coat and curled up next to him. “We’ve a big merger coming up. I’ve been working nearly sixty hours every week and the whole time I can’t help but wonder why.”

“So you can afford to talk to me.” Arthur said, leaning his head on Eames’s shoulder. “I think it might be cheaper to get a therapist though.”

“A therapist won’t look like you. Besides, I’m English. We don’t do therapy. We go to pubs and get properly pissed.”

“Ah, sounds perfectly healthy.”

“It’s wonderful, darling, I should take you some time.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “That’ll happen.”

“Aren’t you supposed to feed my fantasies?”

“I deal in fantasies. Not delusions.”

“You’re cruel, pet.”

“No, I’m honest.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Janice scurried about the kitchen on the phone with the caterer. Little Emily was turning four so it had to be a grand affair since everyone remembers being four so clearly. Eames bounced Cynthia, only two, on his knee as Emily told him all about her day with the nanny.

“Maria took us to the zoo, daddy.”

“The zoo? You don’t say. What was your favorite bit?”

“I like the monkeys. They jumped at the glass and Maria screamed and then Cynthia started crying. It was funny.”

“That’s not nice you shouldn’t laugh at people when they’re scared.”

“Maria got us ice cream, but I’m not supposed to tell you that. I still want dinner.”

Eames snorted at her candor. “I forgive you, but let’s not tell mummy.”

“I told you last week I wanted finger sandwiches, salad and a seafood spread!” Janice barked into the phone. “I want to talk to your manager!” 

Eames looked down at Emily’s nervous face and made a funny face. “Mummy’s cranky right now. How about we go play in the living room?”   
Emily nodded and he followed her.

Later that night Eames was reading in bed, glasses resting low on his nose. Janice came out of the master bathroom still fuming. “I swear it’s like pulling teeth. They’re all so useless!” 

“Come to bed, love. It doesn’t have to be perfect. Emily’s not going to care so long as we get her a clown and a bouncy castle.”

“We’re not doing that. It’s a magician and a puppet show.”

“But she loves bouncy castles. All children do, they’re child heaven.”

“And when they get sick and vomit all over their party clothes that’ll win us friends.”

“It’s about Emily, not them.”

Janice sighed and pinched the brim of her nose. “Honey, how many times do we need to have this discussion?” 

Eames turned back to his book. “I’ll be late coming home tomorrow.” 

“Why?”

“Extra work, you know me.” He leaned over to kiss her, lingering against her lips. He put his book down and kissed her again, deepening it.

“Not tonight, honey. I’m exhausted.” She shoved him back and he sighed. He shifted in place to adjust himself.

“Right, sorry.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“I never wanted to be in business you know.” Eames said as he ran his fingers through Arthur’s hair. Arthur was resting against his chest, probably bored out of his mind and possibly asleep. He’d been talking for nearly an hour now, when he did answer though it sounded genuinely curious.

“What did you want to be?”

“Don’t laugh, an actor.”

There was a short pause, Arthur’s hand brushing across his chest. “I can see that.”

“Really?”

“Well, what do you call what you’ve been doing all this time? You tell me everyone thinks you’re happy and successful but you’re so lonely you’re paying me to listen to you.”

Eames felt his throat close and he lost his voice a moment. “Oh, um, good point. I guess I never thought of it that way.”

“Why don’t you date someone? You’re a good looking guy you could find someone.”

Eames had never mentioned Janice or his daughters to Arthur. He didn’t want him to think he was just another corporate asshole that snuck around his wife’s back, buggering pretty boys while she stayed at home with the kids. While it was partially true he didn’t want Arthur to know it. Besides, he still wasn’t a cheater. All they did was talk. That was his rationale and it was working for him.

“Who has time for that?” Eames brushed off the question, turning his attention to Arthur’s hair. “You should use pomade, not this rubbish. You’re better than this.”

“You buy it for me and I’ll wear it.” Arthur laughed.

“I’d like to buy you everything.” They fell silent again, Arthur’s long fingers toying with the buttons of Eames’s oxford.

“…What’s stopping you?”

“Darling, I’d love to lavish you with gifts, but I’d at least like to buy you dinner first.”

“No, not buying me things, I mean what’s stopping you from quitting? You must have savings. Quit and pursue acting.”

Eames scoffed. “That’s ridiculous.”

“I think it’s ridiculous you pay me to listen to you when there are way more fun things we could be doing.”

Eames’s features softened and he laughed against Arthur’s temple. “I thought you might like the break.”

“I did at first, but now I just feel bad. You’re so tense.” He sat up and straddled Eames’s lap. “I could help you with that you know.”

Arthur trailed his finger along Eames’s jaw, tracing his full lips. There was an open vulnerability in the way he was offering, as if it wasn’t merely a transaction. He let his hand slide down Eames’s neck and along his collar bone. Eames could feel his skin burning under the delicate touch. He licked his lips and laughed it off.

“Blimey, _you_ feel bad for _me_? How pathetic does one have to be to have a rent pity him?”

Arthur’s hand stopped and he glared his lip twitching as he fought whatever emotion was smoldering behind his stone face. “At least I’m not living a lie. I know exactly who and what I am.” 

Eames realized what he’d said and looked away, worrying his lip. “I’m sorry, that was rude.”

“It’s fine. I get paid either way.” Arthur rolled off his lap onto his back, staring up at the ceiling.

“Don’t be like that, I’m sorry, really. I don’t think of you like that.”

“Clearly you do.” 

“I like talking to you is all.” Eames shrugged, running his fingers over the dingy motel comforter. “Same time next week?”

Arthur turned to look at him. “You paying?”

Eames nodded, “Of course.”

“Then fine.” 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

His father had never been a cuddly man. Eames had learned to love him from afar… very, very far, an ocean away. Now he was visiting. For most families this would be a cause for celebration. For Eames it was a cause for drinking too much scotch and muttering to himself in the corner as his watched his father meticulously pick apart every aspect of his life. It felt more like a parole officer coming to check up on a client than a joyous father/son reunion. 

“Why this color? A bit flamboyant, innit?”

“Orange’s very popular this year, or so the decorator told us.” Eames answered, his throat burning from his last sip. The girls were already in bed. It had taken even more time to get them down than usual. Grandpa always brought presents which they then wanted to stay up late playing with. How he loathed watching his father with his girls. It felt so forced to see him doting on them. He knew damn well his father could hardly stomach the sound of children laughing.

“She must have seen you coming a mile away.”

“Actually, it was a _he_.” Eames muttered. His father laughed.

“That explains it.” He shook his head in disapproval staring at the accent wall, clicking his tongue. Eames gripped the glass so hard he thought it would shatter and downed the rest of his scotch.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“He’s such an insufferable bastard! Nothing I do is good enough!” Eames stormed around the motel room, arms flailing. “I swear I just want to reach out and strangle him! Who the hell is he to criticize my decorating?! It’s _my_ bloody house! I earned it! I bought it with my own sweat and tears!”

Arthur sat on the bed, cigarette hanging from his lips. He swirled the scotch Eames had brought with him in the glass before him and listened. It was unusual to see Eames so flustered. He wasn’t even in a suit, but in some ungodly combination of pajama bottoms, a salmon polo shirt, flip flops and an old football jacket. Arthur had controlled his laughter sensing Eames was not in the mood for clever banter when he showed up at his door seething.

“Why do you let him get to you?”

“What?!” Eames stopped mid-rant, staring at him. Arthur blew out a long stream of smoke and met his stare.

“Tell him to fuck off. You don’t need his money anymore. You’re your own man now. What can he do to you?”

“He could…” Eames motioned wildly with his arms, “I don’t know, do lots of things!”

“Such as?”

_Expose me for a fraud to my wife. Humiliate me in front of my daughters. Ensure I never have a family again._

“He could ruin everything. Let’s leave it at that.”

“If you say so.” Arthur took a long sip and leaned against the headboard, eyes falling shut as he blew out more smoke. Eames’s eyes trailed up the long lines of his body to his Adam’s apple bobbing lewdly when he swallowed. He felt heat pooling between his legs and a tingling up his spine. 

“Tell me about your father.” He spoke it before he thought about what he was saying. Arthur’s eyes snapped open and his forehead knit together.

“What?”

“Tell me about your father. I don’t know anything about you.”

“So? We’re not lovers. We don’t have to know anything about each other.”

“I babble on all the time. I feel rude.”

“You’re paying me to listen, babble all you please.” Arthur waved his arm for him to continue. Eames came and sat on the bed.

“Please, I want to know.”

“Maybe I don’t want to talk about it.” Arthur leaned over to the nightstand to snuff out his cigarette and rest his now empty glass beside it. He hunched over his legs, playing with the laces of his converse.

“Why?”

“You really think I got into this field because I had a super happy childhood with brownies and sandcastles?”

“There must have been something good. Everyone has at least one thing.”

Arthur tisked and shook his head in disbelief. His hair fell in his face now that he’d stopped using the cheap jell Eames hated. He kept looking at Eames and then at his shoes as if he expected a trap to spring. Eames waited. Eventually Arthur cursed under his breath and looked at him.

“I had a dog. Her name was Sprinkles.” He looked back to his shoes, fighting the urge to curse more. “I loved her very much.”

“What kind of dog was Sprinkles?” Eames’s voice was soft and warm, putting Arthur at ease.

“I’m not sure, some kind of terrier mix.” His attention was focused solely on his shoes. He kept rubbing the same spot repeatedly as if he expected the stain to come out. “She’d follow me everywhere, even to school. She’d wait by the bike rack all day. It was weird, but I liked it.” He smiled to himself at the memory. “Weird little dog.”

“That’s lovely.” 

“Yeah,” Arthur nodded his eyes blank. “My dad killed her.” 

“What?!”

“She barked a lot, when he came home, when he came upstairs, when he was angry, when he would beat my mom, when he beat me—she barked a lot.” He shook his head fast, “Didn’t like that, he didn’t like that at all. He threw her out the window of our third floor apartment building.” He let out an eerie giggle, shrugging and looking at Eames. “So you see, you’re Dad’s not so bad.”

“Oh, Arthur.” Eames pulled him into a hug. Arthur was rigid at first but soon melted into it. He felt his eyes burning so he closed them tight. Eames was much bigger than him, enveloped him. They spooned the rest of their time together. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Janice came down the stairs, dressed to the nines. It was symphony night. Also date night. Eames was dressed in the suit she picked out for him, but with a pink paisley tie he had picked up. He had needed to go tie shopping, she had told him so and he had picked up many lovely, boring, solid colored ties. Then this little gem seemed to be screaming at him from under all the other boring ties. He had tried to say no, but it wouldn’t listen. It had sounded remarkably like Arthur’s voice.

“What is _that_?” Janice pointed right at it. Eames followed the trajectory of her finger, his chin doubling up as he looked down.

“Oh, this little fellow? I call him Quincy.” He stroked the material and grinned, his crooked teeth impeccably white. He’d refused to straighten them, but he had compromised and gotten them bleached.

“Don’t be funny. Why do you have that? Why is it in my house?” Janice stared at it like it was a mistress. Eames pressed his lips together.

“You told me to buy ties.”

“I know, which is why I’m so confused as to what _that_ is.”

“I like it.”

“I hate it.”

“It’s only _a tie_.”

“Then you shouldn’t have an issue with changing it, should you?” Janice added, hands on her hips. Eames was fuming, a flush on his cheeks. Janice tapped her foot and narrowed her eyes staring at him. “We’ll be late for our date, _honey_.” 

Eames took in a long breath through his nose, his arms shaking from his restraint. “Well, heaven forbid we show up late with the wrong bloody _tie_!” He rushed past her. “I’ll just be a moment, _darling_.” 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“I don’t know how my mother stayed married to my father for so many years.” Eames stared up at the ceiling. He was lying on his back, Arthur on his chest, nestled between his legs, both fully dressed. He ran his fingers through Arthur’s hair. It was soft and good. “She was such a sweet, ray of light and he’s nothing but… dark, _stormy_ clouds hovering over a picnic.” 

“Tell me about your mom again. I like those stories.” Arthur snuggled into his chest, enjoying the sound of Eames’s heartbeat. 

“She was lovely, really, really lovely. I couldn’t have asked for a better mum. I always felt loved and appreciated around her. She was supportive of my acting. I bet she would have still loved me even if I came out to her.”

“I think you’re right. Not that my opinion matters.” Arthur shrugged.

“She loved me, the _real_ me.”

“Must be nice.”

“It was.” 

“So now what?” 

Eames sighed, “Now I work myself to the bloody bone to impress people I wouldn’t piss on if they were on fire.”

Arthur snorted at the image of Eames dancing around his burning colleagues laughing hysterically and waving his suit jacket over his head. “You need a change, Mr. Eames.”

Eames groaned in agreement, still looking up at the ceiling. “What about you?”

“There’s no change for me. This is it. That’s okay. It’s better than what I had.”

“You could do better.”

“No I can’t. I don’t have a diploma, I don’t have a G.E.D. I’ve got no work history other than this and I wouldn’t know how to type up a resume if I tried.” 

“You know the word though. That’s a start.”

“Very funny.”

“No one appreciates my jokes.”

“Because they’re not funny.” He could feel Arthur smiling against his chest and spanked him for it. Arthur yipped and pushed up. “Wow, you actually touched me, I’m impressed.”

“That doesn’t count. It was only a swat on the bum because you were being a little cunt.”

“Such language, Mr. Eames. What would all your high society friends think?”

“I love that dimple.” Eames placed his finger on it, smiling wide himself. “You could be so much more than this.”

Arthur sat up so he was straddling him again. Eames turned serious. Arthur started to roll his hips, slowly grinding down into him. Eames gasped his eyes fluttering shut a moment. Arthur took that as permission and increased his pace. He started unbuttoning Eames’s shirt. 

“I can’t!” Eames grabbed his wrists. Arthur looked hurt.

“Why?” 

_Because I’m not a cheater!_

“Because I’m not one of those bastards that does shit like this! I’m a good person.”

“It’s okay, I don’t mind.” 

“I just can’t.”

Arthur sighed heavily and let his hands fall, “Fine.”

He moved off Eames’s lap to sit beside him, the silence becoming awkward. Eames tapped his fingers against his stomach trying to think of something to say. Arthur looked bored and frustrated. Eames perked up.

“I got you something.”

“Really?”

“Yep.” He hopped off the bed and went to his briefcase. It had been such a shit day he’d come directly from the office. What was the point of a nanny if she couldn’t stay extra hours? He pulled out his pink paisley tie and handed it to Arthur. He had been ordered to destroy it with fire, but didn’t have the heart. “Here you are.” 

Arthur stared at Eames’s extended hand like he was being offered a spider. “What is that?”

“It’s a tie, why does everyone keep asking me that?”

“…You’re giving me a tie?” 

“Yes, a memento of me.”

Arthur knit his forehead and stared up at Eames. “You’re giving me a fucking ugly tie to remember you by?”

“It is not _fucking ugly_!” Eames shrieked, blushing at his reaction. Arthur laughed so hard he snorted. Eames laughed at his snort. “Ah, just a pig in human clothing, should have known.”

“Are you going somewhere? Why a memento?” Arthur’s laughter had stopped and he was quite serious. Eames smirked from ear to ear.

“Would you miss me, dear Arthur?”

“Not looking at this.” He held up the tie between his pointer and thumb, shivering for effect. Eames slapped his hand playfully.

“Cheeky monkey.” He gazed at Arthur, his perfect face and perfect skin. “No, I’m not going anywhere.”

Arthur’s smile returned. “Good.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

His afternoon meeting dragged on, sucking the life out of his soul. Companies rise, companies fall, takeovers, mergers, not an ounce of conscience in any of them. He found himself staring out the window more than at the board. He could just see the shitty part of town if he looked long and hard enough. If he closed his eyes he could fly across the skyscrapers to the little motel room where Arthur sat waiting for him. 

“Eames, are you listening?”

“No.”

“What?”

“I’m only pulling your leg, Mr. Parsons of course I’m listening. I think it’s a solid plan of attack. They won’t see it coming and with their C.E.O. in such dire health it’s the perfect time to strike.” 

Mr. Parson’s nodded, his shinny bald head reflecting the fluorescent lights like a freshly waxed bowling ball. Eames contained his amusement with a mysterious smile. Funny, so much of his internal monologue started to sound like Arthur now.

“I think we’re done here. Let’s break for lunch.”

“Actually, sir, I was hoping I could speak to you about something.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, what about using some of our profits to set up a charity. It’ll do great for our public image and it’s a tax write off.”

Mr. Parsons nodded slowly, not exactly thrilled with the idea. “Interesting. What did you have in mind?”

Eames leaned forward, speaking with passion. “I was thinking something for troubled youth. I’m sure there are brilliant minds out there just going to waste simply because they’re too poor to afford a decent education.”

“Write up a proposal and give it to Anne.” 

Eames sighed and sat back in his chair. “Yes, Mr. Parsons.”

That meant no.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Yes, I’ll be home a little late tonight.”

“How late this time? I thought the merger was almost done.”

“It is I just need to finalize some paperwork. You know how it is.” Eames was lying. He was sitting in his car outside the motel. He still wasn’t a cheater though. He was still being good. He was still an upstanding heterosexual Eames so long as he didn’t sleep with men. Cuddling didn’t count. Straight men cuddled. Granted, usually with women, but it still didn’t count.

“Well, hurry home. The girls miss you.”

“I miss them too.” Eames said. That wasn’t a lie. He said his goodbyes and hung up. The light was on so he knew Arthur was there. He knocked on the door and waited. Nothing happened so he knocked again, louder.

“Who’s there?” The voice was Arthur’s but it sounded so little.

“Arthur? It’s Eames, can I come in?” The door cracked open and one eye peered through. He could see the relief in said eye when it recognized him. Arthur stepped behind the door, letting him in.

“Oh, it’s you.”

“Who else would it be?” Eames asked, walking in without looking back. 

“As much as I hate to kill the fantasy, you’re not my only client.”

Eames made a noise of agreement in his throat, taking in the state of the room. “Looks like I’m not your first of the night either.” He turned to Arthur and gasped. He had a split lip and nasty bruise under his eye. “My god, what happened?”

“It’s nothing, this guy, he got too excited. It’s nothing.” Arthur dismissed it, shaking his head. Eames noticed he was freshly showered and was moving rather stiffly.

“Oh god…” He grunted in his throat at the thought, eyes welling up. “Were you raped?”

“No!” Arthur rushed up to him, taking his hands. “No, I mean, I fucked him, yeah, but that part was okay, a little rough, but nothing I couldn’t handle, but afterwards…” He started shaking. “I don’t know his eyes went black and h-he kept calling me a faggot and started beating me. He said I talked him into it. He wasn’t queer.” He fell into Eames’s chest, hugging. “I thought he was going to kill me.” 

“Oh, darling, my poor Arthur.” Eames held him, as he cried, feeling emotional himself. What if Arthur had been killed? “I can’t believe I almost lost you.” He kissed the top of his head, squeezing him as tightly as he could without causing further pain. Arthur had a death grip on his shirt, refusing to let go.

“I locked myself in the bathroom until he left. I didn’t know what else to do. It’s not like I could call the cops.”

“No, I guess you couldn’t.” Eames kissed the top of his head again. “My precious, precious Arthur.” He kept kissing, not realizing he was moving down until their lips finally met. 

It was like a dam burst. He couldn’t stop now. Arthur’s lips were warm and soft and as perfect as he always imagined. Most importantly he was kissing back with as much passion as he was getting. Eames picked him up and brought him to the bed, laying him down carefully. He settled between Arthur’s legs, grinding their hips together as they continued to kiss, sloppy and desperate. 

“Tell me if I hurt you, if you want me to stop.” Eames pulled back long enough to form the words, but he wasn’t really listening to himself. Arthur was busy pawing at his clothes, making some sort of grunt of acknowledgement. They lost their shirts in a flurry of motion.

Arthur marveled at the tattoos Eames had hiding under his fancy clothes. He traced them with his fingers, admiring the intricacy and wondering at their meaning. Eames was less entranced with the bruises dotting Arthur’s torso. He wiped at his eye and then bent down, kissing each one reverently before claiming Arthur’s mouth again.

“You’re still beautiful to me.” He felt Arthur shudder under him, and his arms wrapped tighter around Eames’s neck. Arthur sobbed into his mouth, but it quickly turned to moans when Eames ground his hips down. Their fingers fumbled with zippers and belts, but eventually they got the offending trousers off and were lying skin to skin.

Eames couldn’t get enough of Arthur’s mouth. After being mesmerized by it for so long he just wanted to explore it forever. Arthur rubbed up against him so beautifully, like he belonged there. Eames kissed down his neck, taking his time to explore every nook and cranny on his way down Arthur’s body. Arthur was panting, his fingers already in Eames’s hair, nearly shoving his head down.

“I always hoped you’d be rough.” Eames purred, stroking Arthur slowly. Arthur bucked up into his hands.

“I always imagined what those lips would look like around my cock.”

“So did I.” Eames ran his tongue up the underside and teased the head, enjoying the noises Arthur made.

“Come on!” Arthur growled through gritted teeth. Eames smirked to himself then swallowed Arthur. He was out of practice, but it amazed him how quickly it all came back. Like riding a bicycle, he mused. He had to hold Arthur’s hips down so he wouldn’t gag, sucking him until he was begging to come. Eames let Arthur fall from his mouth with a wet pop. His hair was sticking up from where Arthur had so brutally tugged and his lips were swollen and red from being stretched. Arthur pulled him up for a kiss, tasting himself. 

“Condoms?” 

“Mmm, nightstand.” Arthur said against his lips, pulling away just long enough to get a condom and the lube. “I don’t need much stretching.” 

“Maybe I want to.” Eames said his voice raw. He squirted some onto his fingers and circled Arthur’s opening. “I always liked this part. Open up for me, darling.” He kissed Arthur as he inserted a digit, then two, slowly spreading. Arthur pushed back against them, clinging to Eames’s shoulders. He jerked and cried out when Eames found his spot. “There you are.” He grinned, stroking it again. Arthur trembled, biting Eames’s lip. 

“Better fuck me, before I come.” He managed to say. Eames winked at him, kissing him once more to calm him. He sat on his heels to put on the condom and then slick himself up. He positioned himself and slid in slowly until he was completely buried. He waited for Arthur to tell him to move, hovering above him, both of them trembling. Arthur craned his neck up to kiss him and Eames took that as a sign. He started to move. 

“Oh, fuck!” It had been so long, he’d forgotten. “Arthur you’re perfect. So good, it’s so good.” He felt like crying. When Arthur started to move back to meet him he nearly did. He sat back on his heels, pulling Arthur up onto his lap. “I want you like this.”   
Arthur wrapped his arms around Eames’s neck and braced his legs on either side so he could move. Eames lifted him up and down like he weighed nothing. Arthur threw his head back, rolling his hips and chanting Eames’s name. Eames watched him, enjoying the blissed out expression on Arthur’s face, the roll of his body as he rode him, the noises he made. It was heaven. 

“I’m gonna come, oh my god, I’m gonna come.” Arthur mewled, high and desperate. He reached between them to stroke himself, screaming when he spilled between them. Eames laid him back down on his back and rutted into him, slamming Arthur’s hips onto his length until he spilled into the condom. 

“Arthur!” He collapsed on top of him, the two of them out of breath. Eames felt like every bit of his body was made of jelly. “That was the best shag of my life. I think I love you, Arthur.”

“I know I love you.” Arthur confessed, taking Eames’s hand and kissing it. “You’re amazing.”

Eames pushed himself up enough to kiss him, threading their fingers together. It felt like this is what they should have been doing all along, but would it have been as good without the months of conversations? Paying for talking, even more pathetic than paying for sex.

“Oh my god…” He pulled back, looking down at Arthur. “I’m one of _them_ now.”

Arthur didn’t get it. “One of who?”

“I have to go.”

“What? No, spend the night, please?”

“I can’t. I’m sorry, I have to go. I have to go _now_.” He pulled out gently, ripping the condom off and tossing it in the bin. He rushed for his clothes, throwing them back on in a hurry. Arthur slid his boxers back on and came up to him.

“Hey, easy, relax. It’s okay. Why are you so jumpy?”

“Don’t you get it?! I’m just like them! Like all those other assholes out there that use people!”

_I’m a cheater! A bloody fucking cheater! I was being so good! What happened?!_

“I don’t understand. Eames, I don’t want any money… I love you.” His voice wobbled as he said it, as if proof of his sincerity were needed. Eames stopped and stared at him. He could feel his eyes burning and the lump in his throat was back with a vengeance. He pulled Arthur into a heated kiss, breathing him in. He wanted to savor him, memorize this feeling. Then he forced himself to let go.

“I have to go.”

“Wait!”

Arthur was too dignified to chase him to his car, making a scene. It was, ironically, one of the things Eames loved about him. He let Eames drive away and leave him standing in the door of a shitty little motel, freshly fucked and heartbroken. It tore at Eames, but he had a family to get home to. The people that really mattered, not some silly flight of fancy like Arthur.

He reached into his glove box for the bottle of cologne he kept for the long weeks where he barely had time to shower and a million meetings to attend and dowsed himself with it. Janice would never be the wiser.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Weeks went by. 

He didn’t see Arthur, blocked the whole thing from his mind. It never happened. He was good again. A respectable husband, a loving father and a shrewd business partner, he could live his life like this. It was good enough. He wore respectable, solid colored ties. 

It was a Sunday. Sunday was grocery day. This was married life. This was what adults did. It also doubled as a date day for them. Maria had the children. They could walk the supermarket as adults without shouting orders every two seconds and make it out alive without having to buy any chocolate flavored cereal and other unhealthy junk food except the box of little chocolate donuts Eames snuck for himself. He was getting a pot belly as a result of his sneakiness.

Janice had wandered off to pick up the cheese from the deli. Some fancy kind that she swore was better than any other kind. Eames just smiled and took it as his time to get his little donuts. He wandered over to the bakery, donuts in hand when he turned and saw Arthur.   
He dropped his donuts.

“Eames?” Arthur was staring at him like he didn’t believe he was real. Eames had that same feeling he had that night. Throat closed, eyes burning.

“Arthur,” he said it with more levity than he felt. “H-How are you, mate?”

“You stopped coming to see me.” He looked around to see they weren’t being noticed. “I worried. I thought maybe you’d been in an accident, you were so upset when you left.” He slinked up to him, subtly reaching out to hold Eames’s hand. “I’ve missed you. I even still have that stupid fucking ugly tie.”

“Arthur, I—there’s so much I want to tell you.”

“I started taking G.E.D. classes so I can be better. Work real jobs.”

“That’s wonderful!” Eames stepped back when Arthur moved closer. Arthur looked down and saw the donuts. He laughed and bent to pick them up. 

“Still a ten dollar a week habit? Weren’t you always complaining about getting fat?”

“They’re for work.”

Arthur smiled at him, dimples out. Eames died a little inside. He could wake up to that smile every morning and die a happy man. He would quit his job, dress like a bum and move to France with Arthur. They would stay in bed until noon making love and then get up for pastries and coffee in some little café in Paris. There would be nothing but carbs and sex and wine and carbs and sex and carbs. He could do that. That would be their life. He was ready.

“And what are you doing over here in the bakery section, honey?” Janice asked, sliding up next to him, kissing his cheek. Eames swore he actually heard tires screeching to a halt followed by a giant crash when Janice noticed Arthur and Arthur most definitely noticed her. “Who’s this?”

“This?” Eames stuttered his eyes wide and panicked. Arthur was staring at him expectantly, wondering who the hell this woman was, as he rightfully should be. “This is Arthur. Arthur, this is Janice… my wife.”

“Your _wife_?” If looks could kill Eames was certain he would have burst into flames right then and there. He wagered Arthur wouldn't bother to piss on him either.

“I’m sorry, how do you know my husband?”

“Oh, Arthur’s a delivery boy. We’re always ordering takeout from his establishment, what’s it called again?” He snapped his fingers trying to come up with a name. He looked to Arthur, could see that something inside him had shattered. He hated himself for it, but fear was a powerful motivator. “Oh, I can’t think of it. Bloody good though, really, really good.” 

“A delivery boy.” Arthur repeated, swallowing hard, eyes bloodshot. His hand squeezed around the box of donuts still in his hand.

“Where’s he ordering from? He’s not supposed to be eating carbs.” Janice asked pretending to be the good-natured scolding wife. “He’s even worse than our girls. I swear.”

“You’ve kids too?” Arthur let out the same eerie laugh he had the night he spoke of Sprinkles. He wiped at his eyes and covered up a sob. 

“Yes, two little girls.” Eames confirmed. It was painful to see Arthur like this. “I love them very much.”

“Don’t change the subject, come on what’s he ordering?” Janice continued.

“Oh, my god, I’m such an idiot.” Arthur laughed, wiping at his eyes.

“I’m sorry?” Janice asked. Arthur locked eyes with Eames, angry and hurt. Eames was silently begging him not to make a scene, to understand. He had to be good. That’s just how people behaved. It was too late now. He couldn’t uproot his whole life. Arthur needed to understand that. He didn’t though.

“Boy pussy!” Arthur blurted out. “It’s not carbs! Your husband likes to fuck men!” He threw the donuts at Eames’s face. Eames blocked them and they scattered on the floor. 

“You fucking coward!” Arthur shouted at him. He was breathing heavily, like he wasn’t getting enough air and he staggered. “You fucking asshole. H-How— _why_?” He stumbled back, his legs going weak. “Fuck you.” He dropped his grocery cart and left, utterly disgusted.

_Go after him._

“What is he talking about?! You do what?!” Janice was red as her lipstick. Eames knew she wanted to explode but she wouldn’t do it here.   
“It’s nothing, darling. He’s just disgruntled.” 

“Everyone heard that! I can’t believe you! After everything we’ve struggled through! After everything I’ve done for our family!” She started to cry, smashing the grocery bag against his chest and storming off. Eames ran after her. He could fix this. He would fix. He had to fix this. His family was all he had.

Janice was already pulling out when he got outside. He tried to get her to stop but she nearly ran him over. He took that as a sign she needed space. Arthur was leaning against the wall, smoking next to the trashcan. He looked away when he realized Eames had seen him. He swore he saw regret. Eames approached him, hands sliding into his pockets.

“Well, I think you ruined my marriage.”

Arthur spit on the ground, not looking at him. “A professional lying bastard. You told me.” He mumbled under his breath. Eames tried to listen unsuccessfully. He watched as Arthur reached into his pocket and pulled out the tie. He ran it through his fingers then bundled it up and tossed it in the bin with the other rubbish. 

“Arthur, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, you really are.” Arthur sniffled and walked away, right out of Eames’s life. Eames watched him go.

He never saw Arthur again.

He was good now. He was a respectable, heterosexual adult. He wore solid colored ties, ate no carbs and worked long hours at his job. He loved his family. He still snuck mini-chocolate donuts and wanked in the shower. He had a beautiful wife that now slept in a separate bedroom and two beautiful daughters. He had everything someone his age and class was supposed to want.

He was a coward living a lie, a perfect little lie. He reasoned it was only one letter away from life and said that was good enough.

~fin~

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on tumblr if you wish: http://lost-marbles-all-over-the-place.tumblr.com/


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